


rhodiola rosea  [ r'as al ghul x omc ]

by riddlersboyfriend



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Male Character, Brotherly Love, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Homophobic Language, Loss of Trust, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Mercenaries, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Protective Bruce Wayne, Psychological Trauma, R'as Al Ghul Lives, Sarcasm, Shit is wild, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dcu - Freeform, prisons, the league of shadows - Freeform, yeah its gay what about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28550889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riddlersboyfriend/pseuds/riddlersboyfriend
Summary: ** REPUBLISHED **Victor, a mouthy ex-mercenary, finds himself in a Bhutanese prison for murder. Alongside him is a man named Bruce, who Victor quickly befriends, although he's a rather strange man. When the two of them get into a fight with a few other prisoners and are sent to solitary together, they meet a strange man in a suit, a man called Ducard.Ducard tells Bruce that if he can pick some flower and climb a mountain, he'll be taken into the "League of Shadows" and fight crime and whatever. And he isn't interested in Victor at all. But Vic's always loved a challenge, and he's very good at crashing parties. The League of Shadows is going to train him, too, whether they like it or not.
Relationships: R'as Al Ghul/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [rhodiola rosea [ r'as al ghul x omc ]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27940232) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> hi guys! i'm spencer and this was my first work for this fandom. i discontinued this about a month ago but i'm going to MAYBE begin writing again! so here we are! 
> 
> i saw batman begins and knew there was room for an oc of mine, and that's how this began. it's not nice- and it only gets worse, so buckle up, kids! 
> 
> blanket trigger/content warnings for this fic: canon-typical violence, family issues, death, swearing (a lot of it), some homophobia/homophobic language, and general hurtful words (the league of shadows is not nice). if there are other blanket warnings i remember, i'll add them. anything specific to a chapter will be in the beginning chapter notes. also, some (a lot) of dialogue is lifted from the movie, seeing as this is essentially batman begins but with an idiot OC involved.
> 
> and yes, i did write this initially because liam neeson is hot, what about it? *dies a little more inside*

Bruce jolts awake on his cot next to me. I'm sitting a little ways from him, making sure nobody jumps him while he's asleep. Mutual protection, plus I'm up early all the time anyway. 

"You have a dream?" I ask. 

"Nightmare," he replies, sitting up on the bed. 

Bruce is... a character. He's got shaggy black-brown hair and pale skin, and a brown beard. His eyes are haunted, as if he's seen more than his fair share of disturbing things. He can't be much too much older than me, but I've never asked, so I don't know. He's smart, and you can hear it in how he talks. He was educated, for sure. I'm smart too, but I sure never went to school and it shows. 

I'm Victor. Everybody always pauses and waits for my last name, and here's where I tell you I don't have one. I've always been _Victor._ Occasionally I'll take someone else's last name for a job, but I don't have one of my own.

Oh, my job? I'm a mercenary, or I _was_ one. I'm here because I got caught on a job a while back, a murder. I got cocky and slipped up, which is a stupid, amateur move. And I'm not an amateur. And then, a few months after I came here, Brucie stumbled in. I knew he'd be jumped immediately, so when we became cellmates we decided on our "mutual protection" thing that we've got going on. I keep people away when he's sleeping, and he does the same for me. It's mostly my gig, though, because I run off of five hours of sleep, max, and Bruce gets more than that. 

I toss my head to get my oddly-colored strawberry blonde hair out of my face, and my thoughts out of my head. My hair's been growing out for a while, since I had a buzz-cut when I came in. Now it hangs around my face, brushing at my ears. 

"Worse than this place?" I joke. Bruce just looks at me, then past me, over my shoulder at the burly, angry guy in the cell next to ours. He's a punk, always looking to beat the shit out of us whenever he gets the chance. Both of us, but especially Bruce, for whatever reason. Always up on the wrong side of the bed. 

He gets up, shucking the blanket off his shoulders, and I stand as well. It _is_ time for breakfast, after all. If you could call it that. We go out into the damp yard, with the mud and the cold, and the guys that work here serve us literal water and shit that looks like oats. It tastes absolutely flavorless and the texture makes me gag. 

People watch us. Other prisoners watch as we walk out from where they're bent over their work. Soldiers watch from the walls. And as I look back at them, the wind bites at me through my layers of clothing. As we walk towards the stand where we get breakfast, I lean in from where I stand behind Bruce and mumble- 

"They're going to fight you." 

"Again?" He replies. 

"Until they kill you," I say, barely moving my lips as I talk. 

"Can they kill me _before_ breakfast?" he quips as his bowl is filled, but there's no humor in his voice. I don't laugh for once, even though I'm known as the guy who's always up for a joke. 

And then the guy from before whirls and smacks Bruce's bowl out of his hands. His expression is furious, but then he smiles, andthat might be even more frightening. What _I'm_ a little more upset about is the food that just went everywhere, because you get two meals, tops, in this place, and wasting it is just stupid. 

"You are in hell, little man," he says. His smile gets wider and he looks positively deranged. I tense just as he lashes out, punching Bruce right in the face. He goes crashing into the stand, and the man grabs him by the hair and lifts him up, baring his teeth. "And _I_ am the devil." He decks him in the mouth again and Bruce goes down to all fours. He wipes his mouth as people jeer around us. 

"You're not the devil," Bruce stands and says calmly. The man spits on the ground as he says it. "You're _practice_." Oh boy.

And then the guy punches again, but Bruce ducks and lands a good punch, then hits him with his head. The guy goes down. I take a step back, hands shaking. I want to take this guy down, but this _is_ Bruce's fight. Everyone needs to see him win and know that he can hold his own in a fight. 

But I do know how I can help. When one of the dude's cronies rushes him, I drop my bowl and haul him off Bruce, slamming my fist into his face a few times in the process. He drops, but there are more people coming at us now. I grin as Bruce slams one's head into the counter. I kick another who tries to come up from behind. At least five guys charge him, but Bruce makes short work of one so I focus instead on preventing more people from joining in. 

Bruce does _something_ with his feet (holy shit) and suddenly he and maybe four other dudes are barreling through the railing and down the hill, into the- into the mud. Great. But I follow them, running and tackling one guy to the ground and decking him to keep him there. Three more get up and try to hit him, but he takes on two and I grab the third, yanking him back and hitting him in every spot I can reach. He drops as Bruce- good sweet Jesus, Bruce is like an animal, throwing people around and slamming them to the ground. One more gets up and I kick him dead in the chest, and again in the jaw when he tries to get up again. Bruce is on top of someone, slamming his fist into their face.

I hear gunshots- the soldiers. I tense just as two grab Bruce, and two grab me. The lead soldier yells- 

"Solitary!" 

"Why?" Bruce demands. I just go slack in the grip of the soldiers. Solitary is better than beatings. I'll take it. 

"For protection," the other man snaps back. 

"I don't need protection!" He argues. 

"Protection for them!" the soldier jerks his head back at the crowd. I look- there are at least seven men on the ground, and everyone else is standing in shocked silence. I let myself smile. We won. I'm covered in mud, my hair is a mess, and I took a couple nasty hits, but we _won_. 

"Put them together," the same soldier orders his men. "We need more empty cells." They follow orders, taking us inside and flinging us into a (thankfully dry) solitary cell. Bruce stands back up. I just stay on the floor where I dropped, flipping onto my back so I can stare at the ceiling. 

" _Ow_ ," I say vehemently. Bruce just walks to the other side of the room and slumps down against a wall. 

"You didn't have to help," he says. 

I furrow my brows. "Are you outta your mind? Maybe you had it in hand at the beginning, but there _is_ such a thing as being outnumbered." Bruce just keeps his mouth shut and doesn't argue. I roll my eyes and walk over to an adjacent corner of the room and sit down. We're going to be here a while. 

And that's when we hear a deep voice coming from a corner of the room. 

"Are you so desperate to fight criminals that you lock yourself in to take them on one at a time?" My head shoots up and my body goes rigid. Who is this.

Well, he makes a decent first impression, that's for sure. He's tall and wearing a- a _suit_? What the hell kind of place does he think this is? His brown hair is combed away from his face, and he has a goatee with specks of grey in it. His face is angular, his eyes sharp, and I realize quickly that he isn't talking to me. He's _watching_ Bruce. 

"Actually, there were-" Bruce pauses. "Seven of them." He doesn't even look surprised. I press myself against the wall to try and look smaller. I end up gritting my teeth as pain washes over me. Someone got me in the back. I close my eyes and tip my head back against the wall.

"I counted six, Mr. Wayne." 

_Wayne._ The name is familiar, although I'm not too sure how I know it. But instead of trying to work that out, my brain-to-mouth filter gives up completely and I find myself saying- 

"Seven, if you want to count the douchebag I knocked out at the beginning." I don't open my eyes but the silence that follows my words tells me that I've got his attention. But I'm too tired to do anything about it, so I take a deep breath and keep quiet. 

"How do you know my name?" Bruce asks after a moment, and I can practically feel the man's intent gaze shift from me to Bruce. 

"The world is too small for someone like _Bruce Wayne_ to disappear. No matter how deep he chooses to sink." 

Bruce Wayne. 

Wayne. Wayne _Enterprises_. 

My eyes fly open. Bruce is Bruce _Wayne_? The billionaire from Gotham? _The_ Gotham, the crime-ridden hellhole where I used to live? What is he doing in a Bhutanese prison then? But I don't say anything, and stare at the floor. I want to know more, and I'm not gonna get that information if I blurt out something stupid. 

"Who are you," he says, voice cautious. 

"My name is merely Ducard, but I speak for R'as Al Ghul, a man greatly feared by the criminal underworld," the tall man says. The names are making my head throb. Do I have a concussion? Maybe I took more hits than I remember. "A man who can offer you a path." Well, of course. Everybody wants something. 

"What makes you think I need a path?" Bruce asks, and I have to stifle a laugh. _You're here, buddy. You need something, alright, maybe a mental facility. _

"Someone like you is only here by choice," Ducard says. "You have been exploring the-" he pauses, " _Criminal fraternity,_ but, whatever your original intentions- you _have_ become truly lost." 

A pause. I let my eyes slip shut again. What the hell is a criminal fraternity? 

"And what path can _R'as Al Ghul_ offer?" 

_Drugs,_ I think. _Probably drugs and money. Some shady business. Only shady people have weird names like that._

"The path of a man who shares his hatred for evil," Ducard says. I frown, eyes still closed. Not what I was expecting. "And wishes to serve _true_ justice." Okay. Well, now the cult thing is sounding a little more promising. And his next words just prove my point. "The path of the League of Shadows." 

Oh. So probably _not_ drugs and money. It's just a cult. I have to shove my knuckles in my mouth to hold back a laugh. It's the League of _what_? I open my eyes to watch them more, and though neither of them look at me, I know they are aware of my actions. 

And Bruce chuckles, so I'm not alone there. "You're vigilantes." 

"No, no, no," Ducard corrects. "A vigilante is just a man, lost in the scramble for his own gratification. He can be destroyed, or locked up." He crouches down to meet Bruce's eyes. "But. If you make yourself _more_ than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal, and if they can't stop you," he pauses and his voice drops to a whisper. "Then you become something else entirely." 

"Which is?" Bruce mirrors his whisper.

"Legend, Mr. Wayne." Ducard stands and walks to the door. "Tomorrow you will be released. If you are bored of brawling with petty thieves and want to achieve something, there is a rare blue flower that grows on the Eastern slopes. Pick one of these flowers. If you can carry it to the top of the mountain-" he stops. "You may find what you were looking for in the first place." 

Ducard knocks on the door twice, but Bruce stops him. "And... what was I looking for?" 

The man turns. "Only you can know that." 

He leaves, and there's silence for a moment before I bust out into confused laughter. 

"What the hell was _that_?" I gasp. 

"An offer," Bruce says, eyes fixed on the closed door. 

"Please don't tell me you're going to go through with this." 

"I've wanted to fight crime since I was 8," he says, turning to me. "This is my chance to do it, or at the very least _try_ to." 

"You're in prison," I say, ignoring the crime fighting bit for now. "And this sounds incredibly shady, and believe me, I know shady." 

"I know you do," he replies, "But this is my chance. And if I'm released tomorrow, what other options do I have?" 

"True," I nod. "But I think it might be a cult or something. That 'true justice' bit had red flags _all_ over it." 

"What other options do I have?" Bruce repeats. 

"Well, if you're going, I think I should go with you." 

"What?" he turns to face me. 

"What?" I echo. "It's a good idea. Then you have backup if the Cult of Crazies decide to, like, ritualistically sacrifice you or something." 

He laughs dryly. "They won't." 

"They might." 

"How are you going to get out anyway? You aren't being released." he asks. 

"I'm gonna use the oldest trick in the book," I smirk. "Gonna beat up a guard and steal his outfit." 

"No," Bruce says, but he's smiling. 

"Yes," I nod, "And you're gonna help me." 

"I was planning on it, yeah," he snickers. "What if they don't take you?" 

I lean back and flash my best shit-eating grin. "You think I can't be annoying enough to _make_ them take me? Is this you doubting my abilities?" 

Bruce huffs out a laugh. "Not at all." 

"Good." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Bruce scale the mountain, but when they arrive, they start to realize that this is might be a more permanent choice than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter! edited a little! it's gonna be great!

I hit the ground with a thud. I hear Bruce grunt as he falls too, just behind me. 

It wasn't hard to jump a guard to get his clothes. We picked one that looked about my size so his uniform would fit. I escorted Bruce to the car, and of course, my general disheveled state gave me a little bit away. But the soldiers driving the car that got us out this far didn't seem to want to take me back, or even chastise me for attempting an escape, so they tossed me out too. And I didn't even get the chance to thank them. 

We're at the Eastern slopes now, and Bruce looks up at the mountain in the distance. 

"I'm guessing that's it?" I ask. 

"Yeah." 

And we go. It's a long walk just to get to the damned flowers. My toes are absolutely frozen by now, and I make some unfunny joke about how far we've walked as I lean down and pick a pretty blue flower with shaking fingers. Bruce lets out an exhale that could be a laugh, but getting a good reaction out of him is the absolute last thing on my mind. Sorry, Brucie. 

Then the wind turns to wind and snow, and I am absolutely _not_ prepared for this. We pull each other up when we fall, or when we can't get up and over a nasty rock. But the freezing temperature and the snow is sapping at my strength. I have to make sure I blink quickly or my eyes will close of their own free will. And I can't let the numbness get deeper into me than it is, because the cold, especially up in the mountains, is deadly. 

We arrive at a village a while later. My muscles are screaming with dulled pain, and I want to drop right where I stand, but I don't. I decide to make sure Bruce is okay instead. The villagers look at us as we walk through, dashing into their houses. A child on a balcony sees me looking and runs inside, and if I had any energy left I'd wonder why, but right now all I can think is _we're close_. 

And we are. Except what stands in our way is an even larger, steeper mountain. I sigh, glance at Bruce, and haul myself up onto the first rock. As we go, I make a point not to look down, but not to look up, either. I'm not too scared of heights, but I'll get dizzy and disoriented if I look either way. So I look straight at the rock, and climb. My fingers cramp and then go numb, and the cold only gets worse the higher up we go. 

I pull Bruce up a rock as the snow swirls around us. He walks a few steps forward, and stops, staring at something. I look up. It's two wooden double doors. They're large and carved ornately, and if I look a ways to the right, I can see connected buildings with triangular roofs on the side of the mountain. 

" _Well_ ," I mumble. Bruce just nods breathlessly. "Okay. You go in first. Ducard or whoever, he wanted you. I'll be right behind you." 

Bruce looks over at me. "It's not too late to turn back." 

I shake my head, smiling even though my cheeks hurt. "If you think I walked this far and climbed this mountain only to turn back, you're an idiot. Go in." 

He snorts and does so, trudging up the steps and banging on the door tiredly, once, then again. I follow, quietly standing beside him. And then the doors swing open by themselves. 

Bruce walks in, albeit slowly, and I slip in after him. I let him take the lead as I try to blend in with the shadows of the room. There are candles on tables in the first room, which leads directly into a much larger one. That one houses a man sitting on a just as ornately carved wooden chair. I wonder idly how long this guy's been sitting on that chair waiting for us. 

"R'as Al Ghul?" Bruce asks, voice rough. 

The doors creak closed behind us, a man in black armor settling a beam into place to keep them closed. More men in armor come from hallways and corners that I didn't notice earlier. They all look menacing, weapons on belts and in hands. 

"Wait." 

Ducard. I let out a silent breath. Thank fuck. We won't be assassinated today. I slip into a corner, sticking to the shadows. 

Until the guy on the chair, apparently R'as Al Ghul, with a bald head and a weird beard, starts speaking in a strange language. _Oh-kay. We might still be assassinated._

"What are you seeking?" Ducard asks Bruce. 

"I seek-" Bruce takes a breath. "Means to fight injustice. To turn fear against those who prey on the fearful." He reaches into his coat and pulls out the flower, wilted from the cold. Ducard takes it, examines it and puts it in his lapel. I have to look away. That has no business being hot at _all_. But I'm jolted out of my thoughts by the man on the chair speaking in his weird language again. 

"To manipulate the fears in others..." Ducard says, and I think he's translating. "You must first master your own. Are you ready to begin?" 

Bruce says breathlessly, "I can- I can barely stand-" 

"Death does not wait for you to be ready!" And Ducard, what the fuck, he lands a hard kick at Bruce's chest and he goes flying backwards with an _umph_ sound. I clench my fists. I can barely stand either, but mutual protection is still the deal, and if I have to intervene, I'm going to try my best. "Death is not considerate or fair!" Another kick. "And make no mistake. Here, you face _death_." He aims another kick but Bruce sits up and catches his foot and gets up. He's going to fight. Looks like I might not have to intervene just yet. 

"Tiger." Ducard growls, doing some weird arm maneuver and getting Bruce still for a moment. "Jujitsu," he continues, elbowing him in the stomach. I tense. "Panther." Another flurry of blocks and punches and then he's got Bruce by the throat. "You are skilled. But this is not a dance." And he uses his head and just clocks Bruce. His knee jams into his stomach and he goes down to the floor. 

And the man in the chair is watching their every move. 

Okay, no. I break out of the shadows, darting past the soldiers who, for whatever reason, haven't seen me yet. And dude, really. If you're highly skilled ninja cultists, or whatever, shouldn't you notice some idiot in too many layers standing in a dark corner? 

I drop to my knees beside Bruce. He's on his front, so I roll him over and check to see that his face is okay- his nose is bleeding a little. I grit my teeth. Not many other external injuries that I can see. But there is dead silence for a moment as I angle myself between Ducard and Bruce. _Mutual protection._

A soldier shifts. I take a breath. I should probably say something. 

"And you are?" Ducard asks, nothing but calm in his voice. Which makes me wonder whether or not he knew I was there the whole time. 

"Victor," I say, pulling my flower out of my pocket and holding it out in his general direction. I'm not looking at him- I'm _watching_ Bruce, whose eyes are wild and keep looking past me at the other man. I congratulate myself silently when my voice doesn't crack or shake as I say, "I was in the cell with Bruce. Yesterday." Don't pretend like you don't know me, Ducard. You saw me. You heard me.

"Did you know he was here?" he aims this next question at Bruce. My hold tightens on his shoulders. 

"Y-Yes," he stutters. 

"Are you gonna take the flower or not?" I ask. It's easier to be annoying when I don't have to look at the intimidating dude I'm talking to, who just beat up my friend. And did it easily, and in a _suit_ , for crying out loud. I don't hear his footsteps, but I feel his fingertips brush mine as he takes the flower. I just nod and fix my eyes at a point near Bruce's head. 

"And you are... interested in our offer as well?" Ducard asks me. 

"I'm interested in whatever won't kill Bruce." I take a chance and look quickly over my shoulder at him. My flower is in his hand. I'm not sure why my first instinct is to find it. "And whatever he said. Taking down bad guys and all that." I add as a second thought. 

He gives a little huff of a laugh. I look back down at Bruce and hide a smile. It's a little ironic- I _am_ one of the bad guys. But maybe this is my chance. Maybe this is my chance to be good. 

_Can_ I be good, though? Most of the bad things I've done- I did them to survive. I only killed the guy because I didn't want to be evicted. I only helped the woman from the mob once. That was to eat that week, because this world isn't cheap to live in. 

And maybe I can justify those things. But I know I'm bad luck. It's been proven over and over again. Everyone I try to help, and everybody I choose to trust either turns their back when things get rough or ends up dead or hurt because of me. Do I trust myself enough to do this, to maybe have a place I belong in? Or do I choose the reasonable option, the obvious one, and leave Bruce here so I can't hurt him? And so he can't hurt me? 

But what if _they_ hurt him? 

Ducard makes the choice for me, but not in the way you'd think. He comes over and once again, he's looking at Bruce. I shift slightly to make room for him, but I don't leave. 

"You are afraid, Mr. Wayne," he says. "But not of me. Tell us, Mr. Wayne..." a moment of silence. He takes Bruce's flower and puts it back in his jacket. Pats it lightly. "What do you fear?" 

I sort of tune that part out. I don't want to know what Bruce is afraid of. 

It's that thought that kicks me right in the metaphorical balls- this is how I was thinking before, when I was alone. With other people, I could keep my distance subtly, keep them from knowing too much with jokes and banter. When I think like this, I shove away those people, cut them off, and argue that it's for the best. It's a bad place that I'd rather not be in, but the truth of it always rings clear- I don't trust myself to keep good things or good people in my life. I don't deserve them, because I will always ruin them. 

_I always ruin everything._

There's silence around me. I snap back to the present, where Ducard is eyeing Bruce appraisingly. He must have said something interesting. Too bad I missed it. 

"Then," he turns to me, and I tense, even though I'm ridiculously tired and in no shape to fight anyone. _And_ he's done nothing to me yet. But he could. _Stay on your toes, Victor._ "What do you fear?" 

I blink. Open my mouth and close it again. Wasn't I just thinking about that? Why does it feel inadequate? 

"I-" I stop. I look down at the spot on the floor next to Bruce's head, just like before, and blurt it out, knowing I'll probably never be this honest again. "I'm afraid of having anything good in my life because I'll mess it up." It's almost a whisper. It is very hard to say out loud. 

"You cannot always be alone," he says softly, as if trying to console a little kid.

"I can try," I say as firmly as I can manage. I'm not looking at him, I feel too shaky, as if I could be shattered with a word. I focus on the spot on the floor. 

There's silence, but then a soldier gently moves me aside. I resist the urge to keep my hold on Bruce as two more pick him up and take him down a dark hallway. Ducard stands, gripping my upper arm and pulling me up with him. When he's sure I can stand on my own, I look away and pretend not to notice how he's put my flower in his pocket. 

He takes me to a room, telling me Bruce's is right across from mine. I nod my thanks, noticing that the thoughts usually racing through my brain have slowed. I'm effectively drained. Empty. 

He might say something, but I don't catch it. And after he leaves, I collapse on the bed, not bothering to take off my clothing. And I stare at the ceiling and wonder- 

_What happens now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i mentioned yet that i have no fucking clue where this is going? well- i don't. no idea. it'll come to me though. one chapter at a time, yknow? 
> 
> if you liked this chapter, consider leaving a comment or kudos!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, if there's one thing I'm not entirely prepared for, it's being forced to fight Bruce."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3rd chapter! aaa! tysm to the people who commented, not only on the original fic, but also on another one of my works. seriously didn't think people would like this as much as they did 0.0 thank you!
> 
> tw for canon-typical violence, but we already knew that. also implied physical abuse. it will get a bit more graphic as time goes on, so when it's involved, i'll warn you.

Well, if there's one thing I'm not entirely prepared for, it's being forced to fight Bruce. 

We're woken up early- well, I am- by some dude in black armor. He tosses me a pair of black pants and a loose black shirt, and practically watches me change. I'm too wound up to make a joke about it, plus the fact that the guy has a sword attached to his belt. It's my first day here, I don't want to start it off by being _dead_. 

I run a hand through my hair, ruffling it so it hopefully doesn't look too bad. Deciding that I should just get a haircut at some point, I let the man walk me out and steer me towards a large, open room where Ducard is already standing.

"Good morning, Victor," he says. I take a quick glance around the room- an exit behind me, two behind Ducard. There are floors above us that I can see, but all is mostly quiet. I hope I don't look as tense as I feel. 

"Relax," Ducard says, gesturing for the man behind me to leave. I hear his footsteps, and then the closing of the door. I visibly drop my shoulders to mollify him, though it changes nothing about my current state. Maybe I should have stopped Bruce from accepting the offer in the first place. 

"You're not relaxed." 

I narrow my eyes. "No." 

"You're relaxed around Bruce," he observes. 

_No shit._ "Bruce is my friend," I reply, trying to keep my voice as level as possible. 

"Sit," Ducard instructs, following his own directions and sitting down cross-legged. So I do the same. "Why did you decide to come with him?" 

"He could have been walking into a trap," I say. When he doesn't say anything, I keep going, "We were in a Bhutanese prison. All of a sudden a man in a suit shows up and tells him he should be a vigilante, or something. And then talks about some secret organization that had my alarm bells going off, _and_ that sounds like a cult on top of it. Tell me why you wouldn't go too." 

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly into a half-smile. "Compassion will get you in trouble." 

I meet his gaze firmly. "I've been in trouble before." 

"Is that why you were in that prison?" 

I force myself to hold eye contact. "No. It was because I killed a man." 

"Why?" he presses. 

"I had to," I say, looking away. "It was a job." 

"You were a mercenary?" Ducard asks. 

"Yes," I answer. "He was a bad man, anyway. He deserved it. I just got sloppy." When he looks at me again, I know to continue. "I was good at what I did. He had friends in high places that I didn't account for like I should have, though, and they decided to put me away." 

"Are you angry at those friends?" 

I frown a little. What is this, 20 questions? "Not really. I knew they'd do it if they had evidence that it was me. I got cocky and ended up _giving_ them their evidence. It was my fault." 

"You did the right thing," Ducard says, giving me the calculating look he gave Bruce in the cell yesterday. "Killing that man. Criminals must be brought to justice, even if that justice is making sure they can never hurt anyone again." 

"I know that now. I felt guilty about it before." 

Ducard nods, and I hear the door open behind me. I tense, but it's just Bruce who sits down next to me. I don't even notice that I've relaxed until Ducard looks my way and I lock up again. 

"Good morning, Bruce," he greets him. Bruce smiles quickly. 

"Good morning," he says, and looks over at me. I nod, and he smiles again. 

"I thought, before breakfast-" Ducard stands up. I follow suit- Bruce is the last to stand. "We could take a look at your current abilities. You-" and he's referring to Bruce, so I stay quiet- "Were tired and not at your best yesterday. You, I didn't see your capabilities at all." And that'd be me. I nod. 

"So I'm going to fight you?" I ask. 

"No," he smiles, "Not yet. I'd like to see you and Bruce fight." 

Mutual protection doesn't cover this, but I won't hurt him too badly. I probably won't even touch him- he'll go all Incredible Hulk on me and I'll be a stain on the floor in ten seconds. 

But I take a look at Bruce, assessing him in a way I haven't since he first arrived at the prison. When you're a mercenary, and a prisoner in a hostile place, no less, you know how to assess your opponent. If you can't do it in the first five seconds of seeing them, you shouldn't be in the business. Bruce is strong- he's bigger than me and slightly taller than me. Luckily, I have a decent idea of how he fights- fast, fierce, and really recklessly. Since he's bigger than me, he'll probably use brute force to take me out, so I'll have to be fast.

Bruce moves to the center of the room, so I do too. We exchange a nod, and he puts his hands up, guarding his face. I do the same, and he slowly starts to move in a circle. I move with him, keeping him directly in my line of sight. 

Bruce is the first to lunge. I see what he's going to do before his arm even moves- it's the tensing of his right shoulder. He throws a hard right hook, and it's powerful, but what it has in that power it lacks in speed. I tilt my head back so it just misses me and grab his arm. Tugging him closer, I clench my fist and uppercut him right in the stomach. He blocks at the last second, but the force of it still pushes him back. 

Now that I've got him off balance, I have to keep him that way. So I charge in, aiming a kick at his exposed stomach. He drops his arms to block it, and when he does, I fake a punch with my left hand. He goes for it, and I land an open-handed slap to his ear with my right hand. Bruce lets out a little gasp, and this time I don't see the punch coming, because _this_ time it's faster. His knuckles make a cracking sound against my jaw, and my head snaps back. I back up quickly so he can't use the pause against me.

It goes on like this for another few minutes- we're pretty evenly matched, I'd say. When Ducard calls it, Bruce has taken me to the floor and is trying to choke me, and I'm pressed back against him for a tiny bit of leeway. He lets go and I roll out of his way, sprawled out on the floor. A beat passes and I drag myself to my feet. Ducard is showing Bruce something, a maneuver that takes him to the ground. I just try to catch my breath, running my hand through my hair. My stomach is protesting this much physical activity with no food. 

When they finish, Ducard walks us to a communal cafeteria of sorts. Lots of tables, quite a few people seated at them, eating. Nobody looks up when we arrive, thank god. There's already two plates at one table, so I take the first step and sit down. As soon as Bruce sits, Ducard is gone, and we're left with the four people sitting with us. A man with messy black hair hanging in his face as he eats, a woman with her dark brown hair tied in a high ponytail, a blonde man, and a redheaded woman who looks way younger than the rest of us. 

"So, you're Ducard's boys?" the woman says. 

"Huh?" I say, taken aback. 

She motions with her hand- _catch up._ " _Ducard's boys_. He went out and recruited you himself. He doesn't do that often." 

I jerk my thumb at Bruce. "Oh, no. _Bruce_ was the recruited one _. I_ was not invited." 

The black-haired man looks up, confused. "Then how are you here?" 

I shrug. "I guess I proved myself or something. I came with him, got the flower and whatnot." 

"That doesn't usually happen," the woman mumbles. 

"Excuse my impolite friends," the blonde man speaks up. "I'm Michael. That's Katherine," he points at the red-haired girl, then at the dark-haired one, "And Charlie. The emo looking dude is Frankie, they're twins." 

Frankie looks up. "It's _Frank._ And I don't look emo." 

Michael snorts. "Sure you don't. What about you guys?" he asks us. 

"I'm Bruce," Bruce says. 

"Victor," I nod to them, then look down at my plate. What's on it is some sort of meat, two thick slices of bread, and scrambled eggs. I blink. This is the first time in months that I've eaten something other than watery oatmeal. I'm not passing it up. And in retrospect, I eat like a vacuum. I'm done before anyone else is, but they don't seem to mind. I take a deep breath and look around us. 

There are a good amount of people here. All of them have weapons hanging from their belts, all of them are definitely dangerous. I've never been a trusting man, but this just makes me more on edge. I'm not worried about _them_ , specifically- I'm more worried about their loyalties, and R'as al Ghul. The damage he could do. Which makes me wonder- does he have the loyalty of these people by respect, or by fear? 

I've had my share of people gaining my loyalty through fear. Each one of those people paid for it. Scare tactics don't work as well as they used to- and what do they have to control me with? To hang over my head? They could turn me out, but I have places I could go. If anything, it'd be an out. I'm not like Bruce. This isn't a all-in thing for me. 

_Bruce._ He's what they could hang over my head. He's here for reasons I don't have a good grasp on, but it's important to him. This is his outlet. I can't take that away from him. So I can comply, or I can potentially get Bruce thrown out. 

It's a relatively easy decision. 

After breakfast, Ducard works with Bruce and hands me off to some guy named Wu, who's supposed to train me in whatever-the-fuck. I just nod and go along with it. And if I get a new bruise because I didn't get off the ground after being punched in the nose fast enough, nobody needs to know about it but me and Wu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *claps hands* well, updates will be sporadic at best but they'll arrive! 
> 
> drop a comment or kudos if you liked this chapter :) theyre really awesome to see and i like interacting with you guys!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Walking out of my room, I notice for the first time that people steer clear of me in the halls. Some give me wide-eyed looks as they pass me. Some don't look my way at all. But there's a commonality in what they whisper about me. What they call me.
> 
> They call me Lucifer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! it's been a little bit but i'm back! sorry this is a bit short, i wanted to give some background on the neat little time skip in here! 
> 
> tw for some non-graphic physical abuse in this chapter. the league of shadows is not nice.

"Up." 

I drag myself up from the dirt floor, wooden staff in one hand. My chest tightens and my muscles scream for me to stay down. That's not an option. I'm late-night training with Wu again, just like last night. My nasty tricks don't work as much on him, because he knows all of them, and then a hundred more. I've picked up a few new ones, but it's not the same. I don't have that advantage anymore. 

I'm not wearing a shirt, so all the bruises on my arms and stomach and back are visible. They're mostly on my stomach and arms- my back has scabbed over lines that will probably end up being scars. Wu doesn't fuck around. 

The lines are from his whip. I've only been whipped once, for mouthing off. It was bad enough that I haven't done it since, which is an accomplishment because all I ever _do_ is run my mouth. There are two deep ones right next to my shoulder-blades, and the rest are fine, scabbing and starting to heal. It's a good thing that they _are_ healing, though. The first few days of training after I got them were horrible, because every move I made tugged at them. And god forbid I had to do a somersault or something. Landing on my back while they were still open was the worst pain I've ever felt. They should be healed by now, really, but the amount of training I do keeps them half-open and raw. It's not too bad, though- at least they're somewhat scabbed over. 

Our staffs clash one more time as I block one of his powerful strikes. I'm getting better at fighting with staffs and swords- it's easier for me to see what move someone will make next. It's also easier to dodge and fake people out. Still nowhere near as good as I should be, but it's progress. 

Wu knocks my legs out from under me with a quick feint, and places the tip of his staff at my neck. 

"You should be better than this," he says disapprovingly. I say nothing- I'm not supposed to, not unless he asks a question. "What's your goal, boy?" 

"Be the best, sir," I mutter. 

"Whatever it takes," Wu says. 

"Whatever it takes." 

"Alright," he says, finally letting me relax. "We're done for tonight." He points at the ground. "One-fifty." Push-ups. I nod and drop as he leaves the room. And when I finally finish, I sit down hard and run a hand through my damp hair. It's late. I mean it, it's probably somewhere near two in the morning. And I'm allowed to go, so I decide to be selfish and go to bed. 

The next morning, I'm up at the crack of dawn, as usual. A guy that I've sparred with before shows up at my door with a folded up piece of paper, and as soon as it's in my hands, he darts away. I just shrug and close the door, slumping against it and unfolding the paper. 

It's from Wu. Apparently he's sick, but I'll still be training. And of course, all the rules apply. Then I look again. Training with- oh shit. _Bruce_. Bruce and Ducard. 

I haven't seen Bruce in at least a month, and to be honest with you, I'm glad I haven't. Because Bruce is a good guy, and if he saw me right now he'd be horrified. I don't want pity- I _know_ Wu's methods are less than stellar. But there's always room to do better, And look, now I'm less afraid that the League will use Bruce against me. Progress? The point is that I'm taking care of myself, and so is Bruce, because he's still here. 

It's almost time to meet them. We'll be in the same room I was training in last night. I ball up the note and toss it somewhere in the room as I slip a knife into my boot. It's an old habit, one that reawakened thanks to Wu. Walking out of my room, I notice for the first time that people steer clear of me in the halls. Some give me wide-eyed looks as they pass me. Some don't look my way at all. But there's a commonality in what they whisper about me. What they _call_ me. 

They call me _Lucifer._

I know where it comes from- some new trainee walked in on me while I was training back when my cuts were new and got an eyeful of the mess decorating my back. Apparently the two deepest cuts next to my shoulder-blades looked bad enough that the trainee told everyone they looked like I had wings that were ripped off my back. Like a fallen angel. And who's the most notable of fallen angels, the one everyone knows? It's Lucifer, or Satan himself. And if I were still a stupid mercenary, I'd take it in stride and think it's funny. 

Now I don't know _what_ to think. 

I let myself into the room. I'm the first one here, thank god, so I pull out my knife and work through a mock battle. Just for fun, and because no one's watching, I fling myself into a flip over the head of my imaginary opponent. Landing in a crouch, I lash out with a fierce kick and make a stabbing motion forward and up, straight into where my opponent's heart would be. 

I twirl the knife and slip it back into my boot as someone walks in, clapping slowly. My head shoots up, and I see Ducard coming towards me, Bruce just behind him. I dip my head to both of them, ignoring Bruce's wide-eyed stare. 

"Well done," Ducard says. I just nod once more, knowing the rules. 

What are the rules, you might ask? The rules are easy, because there's only three of them. I'm to call anyone above me _sir_ or _ma'am_ , I'm supposed to shut up unless spoken to or told to speak, and I can't tap out of anything. _You must f_ _inish your fights,_ Wu's voice hisses in my head. I shove that away. No time for it now. 

"You may speak," he allows, and I crack a small smile. It feels foreign- I must not have done this in a while. 

"Hi, Bruce," I say, voice hoarse with disuse. 

"Victor," Bruce breathes, not even looking at Ducard as he comes toward me. I almost flinch. Ducard lets him get away with that? 

Bruce reaches out to grasp my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. "Are you okay?" 

I almost laugh. "Yes," I reply, smile widening a little. "I'm fine." I quickly realize why he doesn't respond immediately- most of what little of my skin he can see is bruised or cut. I have a half-healed busted lip and a black eye, and I'm pretty sure my hair looks wild. It doesn't matter, though. 

"You look horrible," he says. 

This time I really do laugh- a rough, almost painful-sounding laugh that makes Bruce startle. "You really know how to compliment a guy," I say. Bruce cracks a tiny smile of his own, and I feel more like myself than I have in a month. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnnd here we are! i hope you liked this chapter. if you did, consider dropping a comment or kudos! it means a lot and gives me motivation to keep writing :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor comes to a startling realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! sorry this took so long to update, i've been working on a few other fics. but here we are again! thank you guys for sticking around <33

If Ducard even notices the excessive bruising, he doesn't say anything about it. Part of me _wants_ him to notice, but another piece of my head wants to prove that despite them, I can still fight. And not only can I still fight, but I can beat Bruce. Really, wanting to beat Bruce isn't _personal_. It's just that- 

It's just that I'd like to prove to Ducard that taking me as well as Bruce was a good choice. 

Logically, I'm aware that that's a dangerous position to be in. But I finally feel like I'm _going_ somewhere. Yeah, I feel more like a weapon than I ever did as a mercenary, but I'm useful. My life is starting now, and if there are a few bruises along the way, it doesn't matter. Not in the long run. 

"Are you sure you can do this?" Bruce asks quietly. 

I shoot him a look out of the corner of my eye. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" 

He looks uncomfortable. "Because you look like you've been hit by a car." 

I smirk, though it isn't easy. It's as if the quick bravado I could pull out before has just drained out of me. I have to focus on Bruce, because that thought is saddening, and I don't have the time to dwell on the past. "Yeah, yeah, Brucie, you're the pretty one. Don't have to rub it in." He looks even more uncomfortable at that, like it was the wrong thing to say. But I force myself to shrug it off. He's overreacting. It's fine. 

"We should begin," Ducard cuts in. We both nod, and Bruce starts to pull off his shirt. I follow his lead, ignoring his wide-eyed stare. At least he's not looking from behind me, that'd freak him out. "We'll start with sparring. You'll stop when I say." I let Bruce nod in understanding, shifting so that we're facing each other. 

He's staring again, probably trying to find a place to hit me that isn't bruised. I roll my eyes and lunge, knowing I'm faster than he is. Where he relies on his brute strength, I'm more about speed and pointed attacks in vulnerable places. It's effective for ending a fight quickly. But fortunately for Bruce, it seems like he's learned since the last time we fought. The best way to win a fight against a speedster is to let them tire themselves out, then overpower them. _Un_ fortunately for him, I know that too. I get in close, using my elbows and knees to jab. He's mostly defensive, and I can tell he doesn't know what to do. 

"Come on, Wayne!" I hiss. "Hit me!" 

"No," he says firmly, backing out of his fighting stance. "You're in no condition to fight." 

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. "Hit me, come on! What are you going to do when you're out there fighting crime, huh? You gonna let a killer go 'cause they've got a couple cuts?" I sigh. "I could probably get a decent challenge from the old guy that feeds us, Bruce." 

"You're hurt," Bruce says, not taking the bait. "I'm not going to hit you." 

"You can't take down criminals if you're too scared to fight _me_ ," I spit. "Rich boy Bruce Wayne. Poor thing, your parents died and left you with all the money in the world." I realize pretty quickly that goading him into fighting me is probably the best way to go, so I take a breath and force myself to say some of the worst things I can think to tell him- "I heard about it, you know. I heard about how they died. You know whose fault it was, don't you?" 

Bruce stands very still. I'm close. 

"They're _dead_ because of you," I hiss, getting nearer. "You, Bruce. And you'll never be able to fight criminals in Gotham because you can't face the truth, and that's that it was _all_ _your fault_ -" And then Bruce is finally, _finally_ lashing out, his fist slamming into my jaw. I spring back, shaking my head like a wet dog and baring my teeth in a savage grin. It scares the shit out of people, makes them less likely to fight me. Doesn't work on Bruce, of course, but it feels damn good to do. 

He takes me to the floor in a second. I slam my knee into his gut as he tries to roll me onto my back, and get enough of a jump on him that I can flip us over. He lunges up, and I roll off of him to crouch a foot or two away. He grabs me and gives me another lovely punch in the face, so I, of course, return the favor. A few times. 

It goes on for a while. Any time Bruce looks like he's running out of steam I taunt him with something along the lines of "why don't you tell me about your _mommy_ , Bruce?" and he goes back to being the Incredible Hulk. It's way too easy to rile him up, make him mad and reckless. 

"Alright," Ducard calls it when I start to put Bruce in a headlock. "Stand up, both of you." I wince as I follow his direction, the movement tugging at the cuts on my back. They must have opened up again, at least partially. _Dammit._

"Follow me," he orders, nodding at the two of us. I go to put on my shirt, but he holds out a hand to stop me. I notice that he doesn't do the same for Bruce, letting him slip his long-sleeved shirt over his head. 

He leads us to the infirmary. _Of course._ Everyone in the hallways stares at us, and I hear whispers of _that's them, the two of them_ and _look at his back, what the hell is that?_ and _isn't that Bruce Wayne?_ And really, it's been a month. Shouldn't the "staring at us like we're zoo animals" phase be over by now? 

What makes me confused (and mildly angry) is how Ducard seems to want everyone to see me. Walking in on someone training is one thing, but deliberately walking around the building with the marks on _display_? Really? What kind of game is this? Because as cruel as Wu can be, he wouldn't do this.

We're there before too long anyway, and I'm distracted by the doctor that greets us. I tune out of most of his discussion with Ducard, floating in an empty space in my mind as he examines me, spraying antiseptic on the wounds ( _dontflinchdontflinch_ ) and handing me pain pills that I don't take. He warns against vigorous exercise because of how often they've broken open in the past, but I know better. Well, not _better_ , but I know that's not an option.

As if he can read my thoughts, Ducard answers the doctor with, "I will inform his instructor." And I have to shove back a wince- that's not going to happen. Wu won't disobey Ducard, not directly, anyway. He's sneaky like that. But for the moment, I can take some peace in the fact that at least I won't be working with the cuts constantly splitting open whenever I do something particularly complicated. 

Good _god_ , what have I turned into? 

The thought hits me hard. I've spent a month with a bunch of insane people who want to be vigilantes. They almost had me like one of their soldiers, with their dead eyes and stoic obedience. And I _let_ them. I let Wu, that crazy son of a bitch, put his whip to my back. I let Bruce go, let Ducard make him like me. And maybe it's been slow going- he doesn't have the look in his eyes that everyone else seems to have. But everyone's got a breaking point. And worst of all, I let Ducard and Wu and everyone who's ever trained me here beat me down. I've been compliant. When has that ever been my hallmark? When have I ever let that happen? 

I realize, right then and there on the table where the doctor's threading a needle to stitch my wounds together, that what made Lucifer fall was being different. Lucifer fell because he dared to step out of line, he became Satan because he _wasn't compliant_. And if these people are going to call me Lucifer, they might as well have a real reason to do it. 

I pop the pills in my mouth and swallow hard. I'm taking my outs. I'm going to talk back and snark and argue with my superiors. I'm going to go back to being the person I was before, or I'm going to try. And if another trainee whispers _that's_ _Lucifer_ in the hallway when I pass them, I'm just going to wink at them and say- _yes, yes I am_. 

Because I don't take jack lying down. I'm going to live up to my namesake, and if I fall, then I'll be defiant all the way down.

**Author's Note:**

> i did not think this would get the bit of attention that it did when i originally posted this- so thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos! i've only made minor edits in these first two chapters and the original work is credited at the beginning :) 
> 
> drop a comment or kudos if you enjoyed!


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